


Dean is secretly a published author

by stars28



Category: Supernatural
Genre: a published one at that, dean is a author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars28/pseuds/stars28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was glad that Sam had accidently left Private Peaceful in the Impala when he left for university.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean is secretly a published author

* * *

 

1:

When Sam left for Stanford in September, he left a book on the seat of the Impala. Dean picked it up and threw it into the back, turning the ignition and driving away from the bus stop.

* * *

2:

Dean was in between jobs, so he was giving his Baby a much needed clean out. He went into the backseat and came across a book. Sam's book. He looked at the cover. It was _Private Peaceful_ by Michael Morpurgo.

Maybe he'd read it, while he had a break, Dean thought, putting on the front seat.

* * *

3:

Dean never did read that book. He got pulled into a job in Columbia by his Dad. A case of a cursed object that was being kept by a young woman. The necklace's old owner had died with it on, and the owner had latched on to it. The spirit was killing people who hadn't been very nice to her in her old life.

So yeah, he never read the book - Sam's book - but it migrated into the bottom of his duffel bag.

* * *

4:

About a week later, Dean found himself with nothing to do. It was eleven at night and he wasn't sleepy in the slightest. Normally he would go out and find a chick to spend the night with, but due to a twisted ankle from yesterday's hunt (a banshee), it hurt to walk to the bathroom. He didn't want to aggravate it more by going out.

What could he do without moving out of the motel room? Dean wondered before remembering the book in the bottom of his duffel.

Swinging his legs off the bed and hobbling over to the worn duffel, he rooted through until he found the book. Holding it in his hand, he went back to his bed and propped his bad ankle up on the pile of pillows.

He settled down and opened the book, immediately noticing the bent corners. Sam must have read this book many times.

Dean let his eyes drop to the first sentence and began to read.

* * *

5:

The next morning, he deemed it necessary to go and buy another book by Michael Morpurgo, as he'd read the last one in a single night.

He hobbled slowly through the door, wincing when he put too much weight on his left ankle. Trust him to trip up on the way out of the house _after_ shooting the banshee in the head.

Dean wandered around the bookstore for a bit, trying to find the author he wanted. Eventually, he went up to assistant and asked if she could help him.

"Can you help me find a book?"

"Certainly, what is it called?" The blonde-haired assistant asked.

"Uh... I don't know the title of it, but I do know the author, if that helps?"

"It does," She said, smiling at him, "Who is it?"

"Michael Morpurgo." He answered, waiting somewhat patiently while she typed something in the computer in front of her.

He ended up leaving with three books by the author. Dean blamed it on the persuasive techniques of the sales assistant.

* * *

6:

Dean was better, the ankle had healed up alright, just a bit sore now. He'd read all the books that a Mr Jesson had brought for him. In a single night.

When he found himself wondering if he should write a book, all the books, apart from Sam's, had been donated to a charity store in Milwaukee without a second thought.

* * *

7:

If Sam could see me now... He thought idly, flipping his pen from hand to hand.

After watching the target blow off several guys like himself, Dean had thought it would be useful for the case if he 'dressed up'.

He'd taken his contacts out and put his glasses on, brought a respectable looking notepad (all the ones he had hanging around the Impala were torn and ripped, it was surprising that he could still write in them) and a decent pen. Changing out of his usual leather jacket and into his one other jacket felt wierd to Dean, but if it got him what he wanted, then he wasn't complaining. Much.

Dean looked down at the notepad and squinted at his own handwriting. It was all cramped and scrawled, jumping from one idea to the next, arrows linking them all together, with little numbers underlined in the order they needed to go in.

He was - apparently - planning out a novel. He glanced up at his target and saw that she was looking at him with a sparkle of _something_ in her blue eyes.

Dean grinned, he'd got her. Hook, line and sinker.

* * *

8:

Dean had walked out of that café with every intention of doing the job and forgetting about the novel ideas he'd scribbled down in the fancy notebook.

He'd done the hunt, sure, but he still have the notepad. It was riding shotgun in the passenger seat, with the pen he had brought as well. He found that any time he had spare not working on a case, he was fleshing out those ideas he'd had back in Richmond. And he couldn't stop.

* * *

9:

He was in a library, supposedly doing research for a hunt, but actually, he was spell checking the chunk of writing he'd done since that job in Richmond.

He tried to forget that it was on this day four months ago that Sam had climbed on that bus to Stanford.

* * *

10:

It was February, the cold was as bitter as ever in Montana, and Dean was thinking about his book. He couldn't even claim it was simply a piece of writing any more - last time he'd painstakingly counted the words (he hadn't got a job on and didn't find one for a week) it had been over ten thousand words.

Maybe he should try to get it published. Surely Dean could do that.

* * *

11:

Dean walked out of the office with a smile on his face. After a month of searching in between jobs, he'd found a publishing company that said his travelling lifestyle wouldn't be a problem, he just needed a stable bank account.

He went to the nearest bank and set up a bank account under the name of _D. W. Loosely._

* * *

12:

By the time it was summer and Dean had the windows rolled down when he drove the Impala, he had become a moderately successful author.

Dean took great pleasure in going to bookstores and finding his books.

* * *

13:

Once Sam joined him on his quest to find their missing Dad, he'd got three novels and two short stories published.

In the motel room that first night, Dean spotted one of his books falling out of Sam's bag. He picked it up as his brother came back into the room, after having a shower.

"What's this?" He asked, holding the book up.

Sam took the book off him and put it on his bedside table, replying, "Just a book. I find his - I'm assuming it's an him - style of showing how people act really good."

"Ah." Dean nodded and got in bed, smiling.

He was glad that Sam had accidently left _Private Peaceful_ in the Impala when he left for university.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I got this idea and ran with it. What do you think?


End file.
